


Keeping Warm

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: It’s cold, and Dean’s sick of you hogging the blankets.





	Keeping Warm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bamby0304](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamby0304/gifts).



> Written for Bamby0304's Triple Threat Challenge on Tumblr.

You wake up with a sharp inhale, already reaching for the pistol in the top drawer of the nightstand when the hand on your arms tightens-

 **“Stop hogging the blankets,”**  a deep voice grumbles, hand moving up to fist the blankets bunched up over your shoulders before  _yanking_ them away.

“Goddamnit, Dean,” you hiss back. “It’s fucking  _cold.”_

“Yeah? Well I just got back from a banshee hunt.  **I haven’t slept in four days.”**

“So I’m supposed to just freeze to death?!” You yank the covers back.

Dean lets out a heavy sigh behind you, and then he’s wrapping big,  _cold_  arms around you.

“Dean! Stop!” you squeal, hands pushing at his. You manage to wriggle your hips through his grip, intent on crawling your way to the floor-

“Nuh-uh,” he grunts. **“Come here.”**

And then he’s flipping you to your back, wrists captured under strong hands, denting into the pillow.

“I think I can come up with a way to warm us  _both_  up.”

Your belly rolls, and heat pools between your legs. You can’t see his face in the rich dark of the room, but you can feel his breath pulsing against your mouth. Licking your bottom lip in between your teeth, you draw your legs up, clasp your ankles at the small of his back.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He releases your left wrist, drags his hand down over the swell of your breast, squeezing as it passes, and then cold fingers hook over the waistband of your sleep shorts. You let your legs fall to either side of him as you bring your free hand down to help him shimmy them down your legs. He releases your right wrist then, pulling back to grant you space, sheets and blanket leaving with him. Your teeth start to chatter as the chilled bunker air washes over your newly exposed arms and legs.

Dean moves down, the firm round of his shoulders pushing at the soft of your inner thighs. You can feel the hot, damp beat of his breath through the cottony stretch of fabric still covering your cunt, and your stomach steels in wait.

You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth at the first hot-wet press of his tongue, feel the strip of material dampen and cling to your flesh.

Your hands find his hair on their own, palms flat against the soft, sleep-mussed spikes. Another breath and he’s pressing his blunt teeth against you, scraping  _up…and down…up…and down._  The friction is slow and delicious, your panties further dampening with a wetness that has nothing to do with Dean’s mouth.

A finger slips easy under your now-soaked panties, circles and swirls through the slick at your opening before dipping in to the first knuckle. His teeth still work at your swelling clit, just shy of too much, and then he turns his head a little to the right-

Fuck. Yes.  _There._

He slicks his finger all the way inside; deep yet not deep  _enough._ Your nails scrape over Dean’s scalp as he starts to thrust the finger, and he hums his approval against your heat, the rumble of his sleep-hoarse voice settling so  _nice_ inside you.

He’s working a second finger into you now, and your can feel wet fabric of your panties sliding against your outer lips as he works. Another hum, more of a grunt, and he’s pumping two thick fingers in and out of you -  so good, so  _deep_  - and you can hear it, can hear the wet plunge as he coaxes an orgasm out of you with startling speed.

Dull teeth continue to work at the right of your clit, and you idly realize that  _yeah_ \- you’re no longer cold - a thin sheen of sweat already gathering along the band of your bra and above your lip.

Dean’s upping the pace now, fingers curling when they reach their deepest depth, and it feels like your belly is full of smoldering embers-

He seals his lips over your nub, sucks  _hard_ -

And then you’re falling.

Broken little cries pour from your lips as you clench and ripple around his pumping fingers. You turn your head, bite at the pillow as the pleasure continues to course through your veins.

Your hands fall from Dean’s head as he drags himself up the spent length of your body, and he nuzzles at the damp crook of your neck as he waits for you to come back down.

“Still cold?” he grumbles.

“Nn-nnngh,” you manage.

He pulls back, now-warm fingers peeling your ruined panties down your boneless legs before settling back over you, one arm braced by your head while the other works his boxers down.

You bring your hands to his back, feel the dip of his spine underneath the warm cotton of his shirt, feel the muscles working as he shifts to guide himself close.

The brush of his knuckles against you lets you know that he’s pumping himself, so you let your legs fall wide while your body hums with the lingering warmth of your climax.

Your head dents into your pillow as he pushes in, neck arched, and the feather-light ghosting of warm lips against stretched skin only adds to to the pleasure reigniting inside you.

He starts slow as he sets his weight over you, strong forearms boxing your shoulders in. You bring your legs back up, ankles locking at his back, bare heels sliding against warm skin where his shirt has ridden up.

The slow drag feels good; lets you feel every contour, every ridge. He’s thick in a way that stretches you over and over, gives a slight burn on every pump that makes your toes curl into the sheets.

He’s breathing hot into your neck as he fucks into you, lips tickling at your skin. Your own breath heavies with fresh arousal, soft moans bubbling up from your chest.

You tighten your legs around him, use your hips to work yourself against him, pushing down as he fucks in.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, and then his lips are gliding up over your cheek before landing hot on your mouth. You open up, let him lick into you, groaning at the wet slide of his tongue over yours.

He starts to thrust faster, lips open and motionless over yours as he pants into your mouth. You wrap your arms tight around him, hug him to you as his hips snap against yours with building strength.

You’re crying out on every drive of his hips now, no longer able to match his velocious rhythm. The shirt under your palms is dampening with his exertion, and there’s a thin layer of slick sweat trapped between the place where your bare skin slides over his.

Dean groans deep as his pleasure crests, hips stuttering. He’s more grinding than thrusting now, the firm, smooth skin of his lower abdomen rubbing over and over your clit.

“Fuck, baby,” Dean chokes - and maybe it’s the use of the pet name as you spiral, or maybe it’s the strangled, desperate way it leaves his lips, but it knocks you over the edge.

Your jaw drops and locks in a silent scream as you pulse almost  _painfully_  around his thickness, fingernails stamping little crescent moons into his back though the damp cotton of his t-shirt.

Dean cries out, choked and raw, just before wet, tingling heat floods your lower belly. You feel it all, even through the intensity of your own orgasm, feel the way his cock twitches as it pulses the last of his own climax into you. He rides out the rest of his high, hips lazily humping into yours.

He breaks away finally, inches his softening length from you before slumping to his side, big hand heavy over your stomach as he catches his breath.

“Mmm,” you try, blood still whirring in your ears.

“Yeah,” Dean grunts.

“You can have the blankets now,” you say, voice rough as you roll to your side, uncaring of the warm mess still slick between your legs. “I’m not cold anymore.”

Dean hums, reaches down to drag the crumpled bed clothes up and over your spooned bodies.

“How ‘bout we share?”

“Sounds good to me,” you murmur, sleep pulling heavy at your eyelids. You nestle your cheek deep into the pillow.

Dean scoots close, slings a heavy arm over your waist.

“But if ya hog ‘em again,” he mumbles into the back of your neck, hand moving up to palm at your breast.

“Your ass is sleeping on the floor.”


End file.
